Page 1 of Pursued Beyond Treachery
Prologue
April 1811, Maidstone, Kent, England
The gentle tick of the clock on the mantel sounded more like shots from a rifle in the small parlor. Each reverberating click increased Miss Susannah Wayland’s discomfort twofold as she tried to look anywhere but at Aunt Pauline Guthrie and her portly husband.
She hardly knew them after all, and yet Aunt Guthrie acted as if she and her siblings should share their private affairs with her.
“And when again is your father to return?” The rotund little woman asked as she set down her teacup.
Susannah tried unsuccessfully to stop the trembling in her hands. “As I said before, I am unsure. I do not know how long burials take.”
“Ah, yes.” Aunt Guthrie glanced about the room, her freckled nose scrunching as if she’d smelled something distasteful.
Susannah glanced at her younger sister Amanda who sat completely still on the tattered red settee across from the pair. Her hands were primly clasped in her lap, her shoulders back, and not one light blonde curl out of place. It was unnaturalfor a thirteen-year-old girl to sit so long without moving, which testified of her sister’s terror at being in company with Aunt Guthrie, the woman whom they’d regularly visited when their parents took them to London as small children.
Then one day the visits had stopped. Susannah knew why, but Amanda did not. It was for the best. Knowing the discord between their families would only make her sister more distraught.
The pounding of little feet on the stairs heralded the arrival of her two younger brothers. She stiffened. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was time to teach them their music lesson, but that would not be possible with the present company.
“Nan, we’re here,” six-year-old Michael said as he rushed in, his brown hair flopping about. Skidding to a stop, he hesitated as he took in the guests.
Ten-year-old Andrew entered at a more sedate pace, being old enough to understand death and the state of the family. The red around his beautiful blue eyes and the droop of his mouth made Susannah wish she could hold him, but such gentleness to the boy would not be deemed acceptable to her stodgy relatives.
“Who are you?” Michael asked without reservation.
“Young man, you should learn that children are to be seen and not heard, but if you must know, I am your Aunt Guthrie, and this is my husband.”
Uncle Guthrie, who had said very little before now, put his hand out to shake Michael’s. “How do you do?”
Before Michael could take it, Aunt Guthrie batted her husband's hand away. The balding man’s brow furrowed, and he blinked at his wife, but accepted her silent reproof without question.
“And who might you be, young man?” Aunt Guthrie peered down her nose at him, her beady eyes quailing Michael’sexcitement. He stepped back, now nervous to speak to someone as intimidating as their sour-faced aunt.
Andrew stepped forward and bowed. “If I may, this is my brother Michael and I am Andrew.”
The words were so grown up, much like Andrew had been forced to become over the last several months. They all had as Mama’s sickness had progressed.
“Ah, yes. I had heard my brother had more children.”
The entry door opened and Susannah could hear their housekeeper, Mrs. Stone, speaking to her father and brother in the hall.
Terrance entered first, his lanky seventeen-year-old legs eating up the distance between her and the door in five long strides. He stooped and kissed her cheek, but before he rose he whispered, “Are you well?”
She gave a sharp nod, not wanting to speak lest her aunt overhear her.
Terrance straightened and turned to their relatives, but before he could greet them, their father’s voice filled the room.
“What are you doing here, Pauline?”
Aunt Guthrie rose from her seat. “I heard the news and have come to visit with you, dear brother.”
Susannah scrunched her brow. The buttery smooth way her aunt spoke to her father was so at odds with how she’d treated the boys that she did not know what to think.
“A visit. Why could you not come for a visit a year ago, or even ten? Why now?”
The steel in both her father’s voice and his gaze spoke of his anger. Coupled with the fact that he hardly ever raised his voice made his current behavior quite frightening for her little brothers. She did not blame him, though. Years of hurt were buried under that anger and considering he’d just come from burying the love of his life, she would expect no less.
Aunt Guthrie cleared her throat. “Yes, well, you know we have been quite busy—”
